It’s been slightly more than six months since I first packed my bags and drove from Natchez to Selma and nearly a year since college graduation.

In that time, I’ve been lucky to cover a number of interesting events and write several stories that are memorable.

One of the most memorable stories is a recent one — the Bridge Crossing Jubilee. It probably be the largest event I’ve covered and also the most historically significant. Though it occurs each year, the history behind the celebration of Bloody Sunday literally changed civil rights in America.

Many of the people I spoke with came from hundreds of miles away to walk across the Edumund Pettus Bridge. With the 50th anniversary of Bloody Sunday approaching, I’m sure it will quickly top my list of largest events.

Though a controversial topic, the end to last year’s KTK Mining vs City of Selma lawsuit was also quite memorable.

The council approved a settlement by the narrowest of margins and on both sides there was heated debate. Council meetings often grew tense.

The most unique experience was the opportunity to climb on top of cotton harvesters and walk through fields during harvest season.

I’ve lived most of my life in suburban areas, with one or two slight exceptions. Regardless, I haven’t spent a significant amount of time on farm growing row crops.

I probably should have worn jeans and work boots, as my dress pants quickly changed colors, but it was fun nonetheless.

One image I’ll never forget from the story is climbing on top of the combine and looking out across miles of cotton and soybean fields.

Another memorable aspect of Selma is its culture. It’s quite unique from anywhere I’ve lived. History oozes from every crack and crevice.

It wasn’t quite the snowpocalyse, but this year’s winter snow storm takes the cake when it comes to stories so far during my time in Selma.

I’ve been through snow storms before, some dumping more than a foot of snow, but the images left by the snowstorm were quite unique.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve never lived north of the Mason-Dixon Line — with one, foreign exception, but snow is always an exciting prospect. There’s a select window of three months when snow is a possibily in The South.

And, when it comes, everyone loses their mind and buys every ounce of milk and bread in a 20 miles radius. In spite of the relative frenzy the snow storm created, images left by the small, white specks made the two or three days memorable.

Old Live Oak Cemetery was transformed into a winter wonderland and the spanish moss hanging from the trees quickly became peppered with white flakes.

If road conditions weren’t an issue, I’d welcome  a few inches of snow once per week.